


A Cathedral of Unholy Things

by ivorygraves



Category: From Dusk Till Dawn: The Series
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-25
Updated: 2015-10-25
Packaged: 2018-04-28 00:23:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5070691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivorygraves/pseuds/ivorygraves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kate looks at his clenched hands, his chapped lips, the way the moon glints off the frames of his horn-rimmed glasses. Quietly, without really meaning to, she says, “You can if you need to. Feed.”</p>
<p>"What?" Richie says sharply.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Cathedral of Unholy Things

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rosweldrmr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosweldrmr/gifts).



> An idea that randomly popped into my head and wouldn't go away until I wrote it. It takes place some time during S2, but obviously diverges from canon at some point. Enjoy.

"In a field. With the moon. And the dark. And the dirt. With your mouth. And just one word: god god god." — Daphne Gottlieb

* * *

Her mother liked stars.

Sometimes, Kate looks and them and likes them too. Usually this involves a lot of willful forgetting, prayers, and a need to feel smaller underneath the engulfing light of the moon.

Richie is behind her, silent and watchful.

“You don’t have to stay awake,” he says eventually.

Kate leaves her prayers and stars behind to acknowledge him. “Like I could actually sleep like this,” she says, even as her eyes grow heavy in the dark. “Besides, you’d be awake by yourself.”

Partially, it’s out of discomfort. She doesn’t want him watching her sleep, lying quiet and steeped in shadows while she dreams of stars, of the Twister, of him.

It’s also partially out of kindness.

Richie does not understand much about kindness. “So?”

Kate adjusts her spot in the dirt and levels with him. “I’d get lonely, if it were me.”

He raises an eyebrow at her as if she’s said something strange. “It’s not being lonely that I’m worried about.” He points above them, to the steel bars and ancient curse holding them inside this ditch. “It’s the huge ball of fire in the sky that’s going to turn me into dust if we don’t find a way out of here.” The way he says it is wry, as if he’s quoting some obscure film she’s never seen, like he’s commenting on someone else’s life.

She wants to tell him the sun isn’t made of fire, but she’s too tired to talk about stars or how her mother liked them enough to tell her about them and how God existed in many forms. Instead, she says, “That’s not going to happen,” because it can’t, it won’t, because Seth was going to find them and everything was going to be _fine_.

No bumps or scrapes or Richie bursting into flames in front of her.

None of that.

Richie swallows thickly and closes his eyes. She can see the way he bites his lip and clenches his fist, like he’s squeezing someone’s soft throat.

“What is it?” she asks, sitting up a bit.

“Nothing,” he says. “I just haven’t eaten in awhile.” He smirks. “Been on an all-rat diet. Doesn’t always cut it.”

“Oh,” is all she can say. She thinks of Rafa and how he fed on different kinds of rats, but does not tell Richie this. “Is it bad?”

“Eating rats?” Richie asks. “Wouldn’t recommend it.”

“No,” she says and can’t help but roll her eyes because it’s something both of them would say, something sarcastic and stupid and just witty enough to be charming. “Your hunger. Are you okay?”

Richie gives her another odd look. “I’m not going to eat you, Kate.”

Kate looks at his clenched hands, his chapped lips, the way the moon glints off the frames of his horn-rimmed glasses. Quietly, without really meaning to, she says, “You can if you need to. Feed.”

“What?” Richie says sharply, rising into instant motion before falling into rigidity. “It’s fine. I’m not some fifteen-year old high school kid who can barely control his stiffie in the middle of class. I’ve got it under control.”

“Nice,” she comments dryly. She can’t help but feel resentment rising within her, cold and burning at the same time, like an ocean wave crashing into her lungs, freezing her skin and cutting off her oxygen until it feels like her chest cavity is going to ignite. She thinks of Seth trying to protect her from everything, of him doing his best to fold her into his arms and shield her from something that got a hold of her a long time ago. “You know,” she starts softly, not looking at him, “I really can’t stand that about you two.”

Richie is staring at her. She just knows.

“I’m not some little girl who’s made of glass. I know I’m not a hardened criminal”—and she cringes a bit at that, when she remembers heists in Mexico and burying her best friend in her backyard—“but I’ve been dragged through Hell and back, killed two people with a chainsaw, and staked my own dad through the heart because you two needed to get across the border. And I see the way you’re trying not to bite into your own hand, so I’d appreciate it if you two got that through your thick skulls and cut the patronizing ‘Kate is pure and innocent’ bullshit.”

She tries not to stumble over the word. Ignores the way her face burns once she realizes how much she’s raised her voice.

Richie is staring openly at her now, a small, amused smile playing at his lips. “People,” he points out. “You called them people.”

All the anger drains out of her all at once. “Because they were,” she says tiredly. “Because you and Scott still are. I have to believe that.” Her eyes find his and she tries not to think of how she’s seen them up close before.

“Lots of faith for someone who’s been through hell and back,” Richie remarks, and in anyone else’s mouth it would be biting. He pauses, and then says, “Sorry,” darting his gaze away, as if he doesn’t want her to see into some deep part of him. “For being a dick. And about your dad.” He shifts in the darkness a bit, restless and uneasy, and Kate knows he wants to tell her something. “I killed mine. When I was a kid.”

“I know,” she says, unable to lie to him. “Seth told me.”

“Did Seth also call me a huge piece of shit?”

“Not during that particular conversation.”

“Oh, so he’s coming around.”

Kate feels a tiny smile coming to life on her lips and quickly lets it die. “He said your dad would hit him.” She thinks of a younger Seth and Richie, roughhousing as two wild children, sleeping under Star Wars bedsheets and causing trouble for everyone even at eight years old. She thinks of some nebulous shape of a man laying his hands on them, of carving a routine of broken bones and bruises into their daily lives like church and Sunday school was in hers. Her chest aches and burns, but there is no ocean in sight. “You did it to protect him.”

“Try telling him that.”

“I’m not saying it makes it right,” she clarifies. “I’m just saying — I know you had a reason.”

“That mean you forgive me, Kate?” he asks, and the way he says her name — like it’s an accusation — makes her mouth run dry.

“You’re the only one who can forgive yourself,” she says. “Only you and God can forgive you.”

And he does it again then, lets his eyes roam over her face, like he wants to touch her with his fingers but settles for this. “You used to be scared of me,” he says. “Back at the motel. Before I turned. Now it’s like you never were.”

“I don’t have a reason to be scared anymore,” she tells him. “Do I?”

“I don’t know.” And this time he leans forward, lets his fisted hands rest on his knees. “I guess that depends.”

“On what?”

“How hungry I get. If Seth hurries the hell up or not.”

“Richie,” she says his name and that seems to affect him, though she can’t place exactly how. “I’m here. If you need it.” _You need this_ , she thinks. _You need me. I’m here_.

She doesn’t say any of this.

“Stop,” he demands.

Kate holds her wrist out to him. “You could just take a little—”

“I said I’ve fucking got it under control, all right?!” he bursts out, and it’s probably as angry as she’s ever seen him. She lets him. “I’m not going to bite you.”

“I’m just saying,” she says after a moment, and she pushes through her sentence even as he gives her a dirty look, “I’d rather you have a snack to stave it off instead of fighting off starvation.” She blinks at him, as if she can convince him by pure force of will. “Besides, I know you wouldn’t hurt me.”

“Thought the jury was out on that one.”

“Not for me.”

Richie lets out a breath she isn’t sure he needs anyway. Finally, he says, “Come here.”

Her heart skips and speeds up, and she follows his answering smirk like it’s a light in the dark.

“Just — not the neck.” She holds her wrist up for him. “And don’t take too much.” She swallows against the sudden apprehension. “And no venom.”

“Obviously,” he says, gently holding her hand in his, this thumb tracing over her pulse like it’s the most precious thing in the world to him. “Is that fear I smell?” he asks, and it’s supposed to be playful.

Kate can only be brutally honest. “Excitement.”

Richie _grins_ , and pulls her wrist up to his mouth. “Despicable.”

* * *

It’s almost dawn when Seth breaks the curse.

“About goddamn time,” Richie calls up to him.

“Do you have any idea what kind of _shit_ I’ve been through all night?” Seth complains loudly as Richie gathers her up and uses his newfound culebra prowess to launch them out of the pit. “I swear to Christ, you’d think I’m the Pope or something with all the goddamn blessing I had to do at this stupid pit. I didn’t sign up for this.”

Kate would be lying if she said she wasn’t happy to see him.

Seth takes one look at her bloody arm and turns to Richie. “What the hell did you do?”

“I asked him to,” Kate interjects, and Seth looks at her like she’s grown two heads. Which, honestly, probably wouldn’t be the weirdest thing they’ve seen. “I’m okay.”

“You taste a hell of a lot better than him,” Richie says, feigning nonchalance.

“Shut up, Richard.” Seth waves an arm at him. “Go… find a coffin to crawl into before the sun comes out.”

Richie looks at her out of the corner of his eye. He winks. Slinks off before the sun rises too high.

Kate glances over at Seth. “Thanks,” she tells him.

“Yeah,” is the only thing he says, like he’s too tired to say much of anything else. “Never again,” he adds as an afterthought, and she’s not sure whether he’s talking about saving them or the bite marks on her wrist.

“No promises,” she tells him.

The sun rises, and she thinks of stars.


End file.
